What Happened to Us?
by Xin0Lan
Summary: "What happened to us Sherlock?" John placed a steaming cup of tea into his long time friend's hands. Together each took a sip from his own cup and contemplated the question posed even deeper, letting the warmth of the slow-burning fire fill up the quaint room with wonderful thoughts. No Slash/Vulgarity. Friendship.


**What Happened to Us?**

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"What happened to us Sherlock?"

John took his usual seat in the sitting room, but not the room at Baker Street. He placed a steaming cup of tea into his long time friend's hands. Together each took a sip from his own cup and contemplated the question posed even deeper, letting the warmth of the slow-burning fire fill up the quaint room with wonderful thoughts of their days in the prime of health.

Yes, they were both no longer at Baker street any more.

They were far far away from London now. London seems like a foreign notion to the aged men.

The two were living in little cottage houses side by side with their respective families which were graciously provided by Mycroft, said man had also had retired from his previous lifestyle of "being The British Government" to simply "a husband of a charming, smart, and quick-witted lady."

In due time, the close-knit family friends came to be comprised of: three Holmes, four Watsons, and the elder Holmes and his wife sans offspring for the time being.

The three men were quite content with their current state in life. Each had taken a wife and two of them were adding to the list growing of titles: first as Husband, then Father, and now Grandfather.

"I don't know," came the hushed reply. "Truly, I don't know. What do you think, my dear Doctor?" and gestured accordingly.

"Likewise. It seems just as if one day we were chasing down some band of criminals through the hidden alleys of the Tube and now suddenly we end up here!" John waved his free hand around for emphasis forgetting Sherlock wouldn't have seen it, "And of all things- they are related to each other." He mused over his comment then slowly the situation dawned on him again for about the millionth time, "Scary isn't it!? Still can't believe I'll be a grandad."

"Yes I concur. Quite right on almost all accounts. You forget. I, too, will be a granddad as we are relatives now by marriage. That itself, is worthy to bring chills down to the bone." He shivered to make the point, "I am not terribly worried now though, she's not due until a bit longer."

Sherlock smirked at his best friend/relative. "Besides. You neglect the slight detail of YOU and MYCROFT as relatives. What say you to that?"

John choked on his tea, "Oh! I had forgotten about that. I mean, I know how family ties work, but it just didn't occur to me until you mentioned it. I suppose it is a thought I don't care to entertain much." He laughed and took a sip, cautious this time not to choke.

"Don't let Mycroft catch you saying that! You'll regret it," Sherlock quipped, "Trust me on this. I'm unfortunately related to him by blood."

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The two fell into a laps of companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts of many different things throughout their intertwined lives.

Their lives were not as busy as they once were. There were no longer thrilling chases with "blood pumping through our veins", exciting deductions, and interesting cases to solve. Yet, each man had the thrilling and wonderful adventure of balancing parenthood along with solving some relatively "mild" cases.

Parenthood itself proved to be rather challenging, one neither man expected of such. It was a "case", according to Sherlock, but a case that wasn't quite. When his first-born was in his arms, Sherlock admitted wholly, sincerely, and finally accepting some things were just beyond his full control. His son Edward was most precious.**

Graced with a head full of glistening grey short curls and coupled with a look that could have never have an equal, Sherlock still retained his dignified and intimidating appearance to all who set eyes on him. Age had not touched his beautiful, precious, and intricate mind where he Mind Palace housed his entire life story. Every detail was meticulously recorded into the proper file and placed in a designated room. His favourite room was and shall always be called "Family".

Every single person that made a drastic impact for bettering his life was filed away in that sacred room. His wife and children, John and his family, the dear detective inspector whose name finally reached Sherlock's mind and actually stayed there. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft and his wife had their own room special room, he was blood. Blood relations had to be handled labelled differently according to Sherlock's made up Mind Palace Rules.

"I suppose we've have a very good life, that is what has happened to us." Sherlock uttered aloud but not directly to anyone. He nodded curtly to solidify the statement to himself. "Yes. I've quite enjoyed everything that has happened. Granted, some are less favourable than others," gesturing to his sightless eyes^^," but it is pleasing to me overall."

"Yes, You're right Sherlock," John mused slowly, taking in his friend's words. "This IS the good life. Seems like I've come full circle. Back to how we first met. You, me, a cane and both of us sitting in front of the fire place. Only now each or us wields one." He chuckled lightly.

"Ah, right you are on that, but I will have you know Mine is much better than yours on any given point." He plucked the folded cane off the floor and gave a small twirl before subconsciously began rubbing the grooves of the black rubber grip.

"Of course I could always paint mine white and red- tipped, but then that would get me on the wrong side of the law." He watched Sherlock's expression turn from smirking to full out gloating over something so trivial.

"But you would never paint your cane John. If you did, I'm positively sure it's beyond Lestrade's power to save from punishment of it. Besides the cane's value would be lost. A hand-crafted oak cane varnished in roan and your initials carved just under the handle of it, what a shame to tarnish it's good quality.

"No, I would never. Mary might beat me with it whilst screaming for me to stop being so childish."

Sherlock laughed quietly, reliving the precious moment John stumbled and limped his way into Sherlock's crazy life and stayed.

John stayed.

From the moment the doctor fumbled into that morgue lab room and was genuinely astounded with the consulting detective's near accurate spiel on his entire life, the doctor instantly became his flatmate, crimes scene partner, best friend, best man, and now fellow granddad of the Holmes-Watson family.

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 **Thank you for reading and commenting!**

 ****Please read "You Have Always Counted" Those clips contain different snippets of events surrounding the Holmes family of three.**

 **^^ Information about Sherlock's sightless eyes are in the story "Watching Over Each Other".**


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